


About 130 Pounds of Artisanal Silverware

by Auntie_Diluvian



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Curse of Strahd, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntie_Diluvian/pseuds/Auntie_Diluvian
Summary: There once was a bard in VallakiWhose schemes of revenge were quite rockyBut a group of adventurersTurned him aroundSo now THIS bard wants to get on hislist of people that he wants to cherish and protect until such time as they naturally part ways, or whatever.





	About 130 Pounds of Artisanal Silverware

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT'S UP I'VE BEEN POSSESSED  
> Adelaide is my good buddy [foxsgloves'](https://foxsgloves.tumblr.com) DnD character for our Curse of Strahd campaign. Catra Von Sisse is my insufferable creation. [Wilson](https://zippo-makes-games.tumblr.com/) is our wonderful DM and did most of the work of making us fall for this trash old man a little bit.

Adelaide pinched the bridge of her nose as she, Catra, and Van Richten entered the house they’d been occupying for the past week or so since the awful Purge night. She had plainly stated her desire to lie down after the fight that had gotten Craig, Vitam and Arabelle spirited away to god knows where, and that had been three hours ago. But Van Richten (Rudy, as he was called now by virtually everyone who knew his secret, whether he liked it or not) hadn’t stopped yet. The _mumbling_ to himself. The being _cryptic_ and _grouchy_. Grouchy old men his age, she’d met. But he was tenacious and sharp and calculating and remarkably spry and charming and a little spooky and also... famous. And eventually, she would have to come to terms with what her wine-addled mind had seen fit to confess to him earlier that evening, just as the pandemonium was beginning, about the direction of her thoughts lately, but until then, she was just happy to see that he was starting to wind down from his investigation.

Catra had worn her out almost as much; even as beaten and tired as she looked, she apparently had enough spirit left in her to heckle Rudy as he worked (which was honestly probably for the best, or he would surely have been examining Wandanys’s teeth all night long as she was far too sporting about allowing him to do so, the sweet girl) and then join him in bullying poor mangled Birdinand for information.

But it was all done, for the night. The Feathers had butted in during their interrogation, given them warnings and the information they needed in equal measure, and then had gone back to their reconstruction site. Ireena and Hans had returned to the Burgomaster’s mansion after a failed entreaty to the townsfolk for more aid. (Understandable, given that the Heroes of Vallaki were no longer terribly popular after that mishap in the church.) Rest was finally at hand. If she could manage it, for worry over her friends and the little one and the new horrors the morning would surely bring.

The house was dark as they entered, and vacant. Minus three, it felt almost as haunted as the Durst house.

Catra locked the door behind them and immediately stalked off toward the kitchen. She rattled through the cupboards until she found a previously-opened bottle of wine, popped the cork, and began drinking what was left straight from the bottle.

“Ugh. Zhat’s not nearly strong enough. Vhere’s Strahd vhen you need him, right? Zhe vone thing he’s good for is a vell-stocked bar...”

Adelaide and Rudy were still shedding their coats and shoes by the door when Catra emphatically sat down in a bloodstained armchair, appeared to ponder for all of three seconds, and got up again.

"I vonder if Ernst has seen ze bath house yet," she announced.

"Um," said Adelaide, "what?"

"You heard me. I vant a strong drink, and also ve might all be dead by noon tomorrow, and also I may vant to be tied up by somevone who actually likes me instead of zhat crazy vitch, so… I'm going to go see if Ernst has seen zhe bath house."

"But--"

"--Adelaide," said Catra, squeezing her shoulder, "I hope you have a very. good. night." Saying this, she slipped a tiny vial into Adelaide's pocket. "For… you know," she whispered, slyly raising her index finger from a downwards vertical position to a horizontal one.

"Catra!" hissed Adelaide, embarrassment rushing to her cheeks. Gods, why did she ever tell Catra anything?

"Is joke only. Good night!"

"But!"

Adelaide's final plea reached only as far as the door, as Catra had gone out into the night without further argument, but plenty of obnoxious cackling.

"If she's hungover tomorrow, we aren't waiting for her," grumbled Van Richten. She hoped he hadn’t seen or heard the particulars of her and Catra’s whispered exchange, but that was probably too much to ask for. He had a penchant for being disturbingly observant. It was not always welcome.

"She won't be," Adelaide said morosely, " _she_ can hold her liquor. Unlike myself. Apparently."

On the one hand, she felt certain she should not be referencing their earlier conversation, even as obliquely as that, now that she was alone in the house with him.

On the other, Catra was right, and they might all die _or worse_ , and she didn't want to go into battle against that monstrosity with that maddening conversation and so much uncertainty hanging over her head. Perhaps the sleep she’d been longing for could wait a little longer.

That damn conversation. At some point over the past week, she had begun to call him ‘darling’ and latch onto his elbow when it was available. Hmm. That much, she might have been able to pass off as some kind of stopgap filial affection had she not then gotten drunk and told him his age wasn’t such a dealbreaker after all and she’d sleep with him if he wanted.

She might have managed to be charming had she not attempted it while plastered and in the middle of an emergency. Then there was the matter of his response. It was bewildering, to say the least: "You know what? Fine, Adelaide. If we ever get out of this forsaken country… fine."

_Fine? If!_

Not that her advances had never been rejected before, but she'd never been accepted conditionally, even begrudgingly. That was usually her place.

She had thought him to be lonely enough that he'd jump at the chance to spend a night in her bed, and hadn't considered that to be flattering herself too much, besides. But no, no, that was probably true of any other old man but Van Richten.

She'd watched him gently turn down several beautiful women (and gruffly, a few more), but they only knew him as the handsome and genial Rictavio. She suspected he had made a rule for himself about that, or perhaps he found the idea of sleeping with someone who didn't know his true identity wholly unappealing. Or perhaps he was too paranoid to let anyone that close. Knowing him, it was most likely some combination of all of those inhibitors, with some of his typically arcane reasoning and dramatic sensibilities piled on top for good measure.

She didn't doubt that he was lonely, then. He had almost told her as much, though he'd never admit to that weakness by name. His tale of loss and isolation and yet more and more loss spoke it clear enough.

So. If she was as close to him as he'd let anyone in years, and he still preferred his loneliness to her company tonight, then that was that. She wasn't about to wait for an if that might never come; that was his way, and he could keep it.

The only _if_ that mattered was _if_ she decided to be honest with herself and act on that damn confession, for what it was, at least: she wouldn't say no. Even drunk as she had been at the time, she hadn’t imagined she’d be doing more than just… not saying no. And yet, there she was, seriously considering what more she might do in the name of getting this bizarre attraction out of her system, as Rudy removed his hat.

His disguise vanished. So quickly she hardly registered it all at once, his shock of golden hair became wispy white, his ears rounded rather than pointed, his skin weathered, even his eyes--flint grey in place of soft brown.

A week ago, it had stunned her to see the handsome, if extraordinarily dubious, secretive, and slightly mad elf bard she had been flirting with for the past week transform into a wizened septua-- ...nona--no, oct--...something-agenarian human, and truthfully, she had been rather put out by it. But then, afterwards, he had remained almost exactly the same, as people tend to do whether one knows their secrets or not. Less the flirting, which she only then realized she missed, somewhat. And then she had watched his steady, careful surgeon’s hands cut into Craig’s Strahd-mangled arm and reconstruct it to accommodate a prosthetic so she wouldn’t suffer its loss too badly.

“Good night, Adelaide,” he said, clearing his throat as he stood on the bottom step. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

“Good night. Rest well,” she said, distracted by the notion of what he might do if she kissed him on the cheek and lingered a second too long.

At some point, her self-imposed loneliness was bound to catch up with her, as well. Of course it had to be with a crotchety old bastard with more issues than her father’s catalogues. He trudged up the stairs, and without another word, closed the door to his room behind him.

She went up not long after, and lit a candle in her own room as she undressed. She had been sharing the space with Catra and sometimes Arabelle, when Craig's snoring was too much (though truthfully Catra's wasn't much better), but now there was nobody around to notice or question how many minutes she spent artfully loosening her braid in the mirror or trying to achieve just the right sheen and bitten redness on her lips--there, now. She wore a nightgown, for deniability, but a thin one, and not much else. Would he notice? The light from her candle was dim and the scant crescent-moonlight filtered through the still ash-covered windows. She briefly considered turning up at his door completely naked, but decided that would be too much. Best give him something to notice, then, she thought, frowning as she pinched her nipples until they were visible through the delicate fabric. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. Had it really come to this?

The flips her stomach did at the mere thought of him touching her there instead were a sure enough sign that it had, indeed, come to this.

She shook her head, took up her candlestick, left her spectacles on the dresser, and crept across the hall as silently as she could. The faintest flicker of light beneath his door told her he was also still awake. Brooding, probably.

All she had to do was knock, and the rest would… surely come to her. She raised her hand, then lowered it, clenching and unclenching her fist. She was a saleswoman, for fuck’s sake! If she couldn’t bullshit her way into a lonely old man’s bed, then she wasn’t worth her weight in artisanal spoons. _Knock, damn you._

She licked her lips.

“Are you going to knock or not, Adelaide?” came Van Richten’s voice from inside.

She scowled briefly, before arranging her expression into practiced artlessness, and rapped twice.

"I suppose you might as well come in, then."

He did not even look up from scribbling in his journal as she entered and shut the door behind her.

"At your service as ever, my dear. What do you want."

Still he did not look at her.

"I could have been anyone, you know," she said breezily. "A robber, or a vampire spawn…" She grinned. "...a succubus or something. Popular monster to come calling at one's chamber late at night, those. Or so I've heard."

At last she saw a flash of his teeth.

"You know, I actually encountered one of those, once."

Adelaide sat in the chair on the far side of the room, candlestick resting on her thigh, scratching at some of the dried wax on the edge of the metal.

"Oh, yes, I know. That's one of my favorites, actually. I don't get many chances to perform it, though; the tune is catchy as hell, but the words aren't exactly family friendly."

"No, they certainly aren't," he said, chuckling, and shutting his journal at last, though he still sat at the far side of his bed with his back towards her. "But you didn't spend a full minute dithering before knocking to ask if I really captured her using a net made of my own underclothes, so what is it?"

He folded his spectacles and placed them on the nightstand next to his candle.

"I-it was _not_ a full minute," she squeaked. "But darling, now that you mention it, I am curious. Did you?"

He snorted. "What do you think, Adelaide? No, I used a magic circle. It was not nearly that interesting, unfortunately, except for the part where she almost killed me." He coughed. "Um, not- not like you're thinking, she just--Adelaide, I think you'd better just tell me what you came for. It's late."

She sighed, and rose from the chair, crossing the room to him until she reached the edge of the bed. She leaned her cheek against the tall bedpost and wrapped her free arm around it, posture like a statue she'd seen once, somewhere nicer than Barovia. Perhaps the statue was also trying to seduce a legendary vampire hunter nearly three times her age. But probably not. That was probably just her.

"I know the… witch, or whatever she is, frightened you," she said softly, trying to make out his face even as he turned away. He nodded, just barely.

"Me too," she continued. "I don't know if we'll be, um, enough. Just us three. Me with my bullshit and Catra with her punching things, Wanda with her, you know, teeth and claws, and you with your… uh…” She trailed off, as the extent as well as the limitations of his abilities were still something of a mystery to her. “... _plans_ , and such. So I think, perhaps… Catra had the right of it. Sort of."

"In what sense," he asked, a warning tone in his voice.

"Well I-" she began, impatient with his implicit lack of trust in her judgment, before readjusting her tone into its usual matter-of-fact gentle coaxing, "I'm not suggesting going out in search of a stronger drink. I've done quite enough of that tonight, anyway. It just seems wise to… take care of any unfinished business."

She examined a rough spot in the varnish on the bedpost, running her thumb over it and trying to calm her racing pulse as he finally turned to look at her, his cold eyes taking her in tortuously from the ground up.

"Which would be."

"Which would be our conversation. From earlier."

"Which one."

"When I was drunk, at the reconstruction party."

"And."

"And in roundabout terms, when I expressed my interest, you put me off indefinitely."

"That is not what happened and you damn well know it!" he seethed, his voice gravelly, before reigning his temper back in to mere contempt. "Your interest? Hardly. Please, Adelaide, I'm many things, but I'm no fool. You said you 'probably wouldn't say no', _if I_ asked. What did you expect me to do with that, get down on my knees and beg? No, I responded in kind. Don't tell me you're dissatisfied with that now. I thought that was the entire game we've been playing. The one I believe you started."

She started! Had she? She licked her lips once more, and from the way his eyes burned into her, she had no doubt her extra preparations hadn't gone amiss.

"I suppose I could have phrased it better," she admitted evenly, as if his frustrated implication that he might indeed want more from her than he'd let on hadn't already made her weak with need. "I was drunk, after all, and not at my best. But that's why I came here: to clear up any lingering confusion."

She took a tentative step forward, leaving the stability of the bedpost for the dizziness ahead.

"Do that, then," he dared.

She set her candle on the nightstand next to his, and lifting the hem of her nightgown to her thigh, placed a knee on the edge of the bed so she nearly straddled one of his legs.

The kiss was almost chaste, at first, as she was waiting for an answer, for acceptance. Then he gave it.

To be pulled in closer by a man who had spent so much time and effort pushing everyone away was a thrill of its own, nevermind the exquisite physical delight of his lips moving against hers, the sound he made when she caught his lip in her teeth, his thumb gently resting at her pulse as if on instinct. If he had the presence of mind to count it, he'd likely be shocked.

She lifted her other knee onto the bed and straddled him fully, and as she did, his hands inched forward along her thighs beneath her dress. He hesitated when he reached her ass, but she guessed at his purpose and curled her hips forward to press her already achingly aroused pussy against the still-clothed length of his cock. He groaned in response, and squeezed her ass, and pressed her even closer still, to feel even the tiniest bit more of her where he strained against his trousers.

Catra could have her little vial back. The man clearly didn't need it.

It was almost infuriating, how good he felt, what a relief his unmistakable want for her was. Eventually they would have to part, to remove their clothes, if they were to continue, but not yet. Not until it was unbearable.

His hands explored upward still, and she found he had a knack for finding the exact places and the exact kinds of touches that could make her gasp into his neck, and he had only gotten as far as her ribs. By the time he did reach her breasts, she had to push aside his shirt collar and bite into his shoulder to muffle the moans that threatened to escape her, and her own neck withstood a similar treatment. She rocked against him repeatedly, knowing she was soaking through his pants but hardly able to care. Even clothed, and felt rather than seen, his cock was impressive. ( ~~He even roughly beat out Strahd's, from the rancid pie dream~~ , which was a thought she did not have.)

His skin, where she found it by tugging aside his shirt, was thin and delicate, as usually expected with someone his age, but it was at odds with the obvious strength of the musculature beneath. Such a strange creature, this man, as if parts of him hadn't gotten, or had simply refused the idea that he was supposed to be ancient. As if he wouldn't stand for it. She was glad; she wasn't sure how much longer she could stand him slowly driving her out of her mind. Rather, she wanted him to do it quickly.

To that end, she gathered up her nightgown and pulled it over her head. He stilled and studied her as best he could in the candlelight, his hands settling at her waist.

"You are beautiful." He spoke more to himself than to her, and with the kind of intonation one might use to remark on the likelihood of rain, particularly in Barovia. "Did I forget to take off my hat, I wonder?" He met her eyes, but only briefly.

"My dear, I can't begin to understand how you're here, like this. I have my pride but I know I haven't been particularly kind to you and I certainly haven't done anything to deserve this. But I'm not about to start pretending I deserve half the good fortune I've received. So if this is some kind of misunderstanding, you'd better tell me now or I will take you as I've taken every other good thing given to me: without hesitation or remorse."

Heat rushed to her cheeks, even as she rolled her eyes. She did not bother pointing out that such a speech was, de facto, hesitating.

"Oh good heavens, no, anything but that." She sighed, and fondly tilted up his chin to look at her. "Ridiculous old man. You'd better take me."

She kissed him again as she reluctantly climbed off his lap to give him the space he needed to undress. He did so, painstakingly, unable to take his eyes off of her.

When he was free of his clothes, she rushed to him once more and wrapped her fingers around his cock immediately. He jolted and cried out, and she caught the end of the noise in another kiss as she stroked him, lightly, teasing. Her own eyelids fluttered shut when she found the head of his cock already slick with cum. She coaxed more out of him with her thumb, and spread it down his length. In turn, he shoved his hand between her thighs, almost roughly, greedily, and dipped his fingers into the copious wetness he found there with a shaky exhale.

"I _am_ a ridiculous old man. So there's no accounting for taste, I see," he mumbled as paradoxically, his fingers expertly massaged her clit, making her knees shake.

"Ah, fuh-" she gasped, seeing white. "Darling, you _must_ stop that," she chided between heaving breaths.

He withdrew his hand instantly and she clamped her thighs together to try to catch him and keep him from doing so, but she was unsuccessful.

"Not- not that, don't stop doing that," she moaned, trying to climb back onto his lap, already missing his touch. "I meant wh- _AAH_!"

She yelped as he suddenly lifted her off his lap and tossed her onto the bed on her back. Before she had even caught her breath from the landing, he was on top of her, aligning her hips with his and teasing her breasts with his mouth. She clutched at him and arched into the touch, whatever she had been about to say forgotten.

Finally, finally he pressed his cock against her entrance, but he did not yet push in. They moaned in tandem as he rubbed himself against her folds and her clit, gathering her wetness on himself for lubrication.

Then he stopped again, and she almost could have strangled him for it were it not for the incredible tenderness in his expression as he fiddled with the end of her braid and avoided her eyes. If she thought about that for too long, she might start to panic, but then he spoke.

"I thought about it anyway," he said, evidently picking up on some train of thought she hadn't been privy to.

"What?"

"Begging you," he said, "when you said there was a chance. Given a few more days, I might have."

"You wouldn't," she said, raising her hips to position herself, in an attempt to entice him to please just _move_. "You're too proud."

He shook his head. "Not for this. Not for you. You're worth a good grovel or twenty. But you already knew that."

With that, he gave in to her unspoken plea and slowly, agonizingly began to sink his cock into her. The stretch of him gradually filling her drove her wild, and she frantically shoved a hand down between their bodies to rub her clit. He casually brushed her hand aside, wet his own thumb in his mouth, and within mere seconds found the exact amount of pressure needed to bring her right to the brink of climax.

“Wait, wait--oh!” she gasped, a second too late as it caught her by surprise. She jolted with the intensity of her release and bucked up into him, unable to resist having all of him as she came.

“Adelaide,” he groaned, burying his cock even further. She cried out, grasping at the sheets as she throbbed.

“Please, _please_ ,” she begged, but the first please alone was more than sufficient. He fucked her unrelentingly, and she was delirious with it, uncertain exactly when her orgasm had ended until a new one began to build within her. She nearly sobbed for want of it. She certainly cursed for it. All of it spurred him on, even as he began to pant with the effort.

She slung her calves over his shoulders and he hissed, his pace quickening erratically then.

She called out his name and he came with a shout, as if on command, still pumping frenetically until he was spent. When he caught his breath a few moments later, he opened his eyes to watch her come undone once more, rubbing her clit as he was still inside her, cum leaking out of her and all.

He withdrew and rolled off the bed, located his handkerchief and handed it to her. It did a sorry job of cleaning up the mess, but it was better than nothing.

She sighed, suddenly unsure of what to do next. Her nightgown lay on the floor by the bed.

She bent to pick it up.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

She tugged at her ear.

“Well, I-”

“Please. Don’t,” he said.

She swallowed, then let her nightgown fall back to the floor.

“Alright.”

He climbed under the covers and held them up for her as well, and she crawled in next to him.

“Would you blow out the candles, my dear?” he asked.

She did so.

“Do y--” he cleared his throat, “Would you mind if I held you.”

She shook her head, then remembered they were in pitch darkness. “No. That’s alright.”

His arm gently settled around her waist.

“Thank you for allowing me this. I’m not used to--I have this tendency to outlive people like you and your friends. I don’t do this often.”

“I know,” she said.

“It’s why I can’t remember the last time I was as afraid as I was tonight.”

“For us?” she asked.

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back in return.

Adelaide awoke to the sound of hooves on the cobblestone in front of the house. She was alone in bed, but as she looked out the window, she saw Rictavio’s cart out front, and Catra loading things into it. Van Richten shouted something at her from downstairs, and Catra slumped with exasperation at it.

He had let her sleep, then?

Something almost alien in its tenderness brought her fingers to her throat, and the memory of his attentions there the night before. She shook herself out of it. He should have woken her.

She collected her nightgown and put it on, intending to dash across the hall and dress quickly. She ran straight into Catra.

“Oh, good morning, Adelaide,” she purred. “Ve’re nearly packed. I vas coming to make sure you vere avake.”

Adelaide fixed her with a look, but she only followed her into their room, beaming, smug enough to put Strahd himself to shame.

“I take it you’re vell-rested,” she drawled, leaning against the wall as Adelaide dressed herself.

“Oh, as well as can be expected,” she said lightly, fixing her braid. “You?”

“Exhausted, actually.”

Adelaide shrugged sympathetically.

“Did Ernst enjoy the bath house?”

“Ah, ve didn’t make it zhat far. But it’s zhe thought zhat counts.”

“And it’s the count that thoughts,” they said in unison.

Adelaide finished packing, and Catra followed her back downstairs.

“Oh! I nearly forgot,” said Adelaide, though truthfully she had only been waiting for the proper moment, “I meant to give you this back. Didn’t need it.”

The vial had never left her pocket the night before, and now she pressed it into Catra’s hand.

She guffawed, and Van Richten re-emerged from a side room carrying a huge bundle of something. He squinted suspiciously at Adelaide’s poker face and Catra’s almost predatory grin.

“Ve all ready?” she asked, heaving her pack onto her shoulders and heading outside.

Rudy grunted, taking his hat down off its peg.

“She’s riding in the back,” he grumbled as he put it on and left, too, as Rictavio. “Fucking Tieflings,” she heard him mutter, “every last one of ‘em thinks they invented innuendo. Daughter of Asmodeus, more like…” he continued on out of earshot.

Adelaide smiled, taking in the house for the last time. She squared her shoulders and locked the door behind her. They had a very long day ahead of them. She was ready for it.


End file.
